by Stuart Daly
The boys were about to unsaddle their Wardens when they were stopped by Shanty. ‘Best if we leave them on, lads. We’re in enemy territory, and there’s no telling who might come wandering through these lands. I know we’ve ridden the Wardens hard, but we might need to make a quick exit.’ He pointed towards the far corner of the room. ‘Set them up over there with some food and water. After an hour or two they should be rested.’
‘If you’re worried about the enemy finding us, shouldn’t we leave someone on guard duty?’ Caspan asked.
‘I’ll do it,’ Lachlan offered, striding across to a flight of stone stairs that led to the battlements, a hand resting on the pommel of the longsword sheathed by his side. He normally favoured a two-handed sword, but probably thought it might be too cumbersome in the confined spaces of the tomb.
‘It’s not only the Wardens that need to rest, lad,’ Shanty said, making the boy pause at the base of the stairs. ‘I’m sure you’re tired after our long flight, and we’ll need you alert and fresh for when we reach the tomb. Besides, it’s already taken care of.’ He drew the friends’ attention to Ferris, who crept like a fleeting shadow across the battlements. ‘I commanded him to patrol the area the instant I landed. You youngsters should learn to do that. It’s not a bad habit to develop, particularly when you’re travelling in unfamiliar territory.’ He rubbed his belly and jerked his chin towards the saddle bags. ‘Now, how about we have something to eat? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished.’
The boys moved their guardians over to the corner, set them up with food and water, then returned with some of the provision bags. Caspan slipped his bow from his shoulders and sat down between the girls. Kilt gave him an offended look and shuffled a little further along the wall. Ignoring her, he untied one of the bags’ drawstrings and inspected its contents.
‘Hmm, not bad,’ he said, giving Roland an approving nod. ‘You could always have a career as a quartermaster.’
‘I doubt it,’ Kilt commented, accepting a pork pie from Sara and peeling off its cloth wrapping. ‘He’d eat everything. There’d be nothing left for anybody else.’
Roland blew a raspberry at her and continued rummaging through his sack. ‘Hey, let me know when you find that bottle of Slap Across the Face,’ he announced to the group. ‘I could do with a drop of that right now to warm me up.’
‘It’s much colder here,’ Sara agreed, drawing her cloak tightly around her.
‘And it will get a lot colder yet,’ Shanty said. ‘We’ve only just reached the lowlands. Wait until we climb into the mountains. That’s when the temperature will really start to drop.’ Sara pulled a dour face and shivered. Shanty detached a leather water-skin from his belt and tossed it to her. ‘I was saving this for the mountains, but it’s no good having you cold already. Have a swig. It’ll put some fire in your belly.’
Sara uncorked it and sniffed its contents. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s one of Gramidge’s cordials. I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s made from fermented ginger. If that doesn’t warm you up, I don’t know what will.’
Sara took a sip and smiled appreciatively. She then took a long draught before returning the drink.
‘How are the rest of you holding up?’ Shanty asked.
‘Things couldn’t be dandier,’ Roland replied, discovering the bottle of Slap Across the Face. He kissed it and held it up triumphantly. ‘Here’s to good old Gramidge. May his cider always be as sweet as honey.’
Only if he can fight his way back to his skeps, Caspan thought to himself.
Shanty took a chunk of crusty bread from a bag and raised it towards Roland. ‘I’ll second that.’ The driving wind howled through the barracks, prompting him to look up at the creaking rafters. ‘I know this isn’t the type of accommodation to which you’re accustomed, but as far as ruins go, this isn’t too bad. We have a roof – of sorts – above our heads and we’re out of the wind. All in all, I think we’ve had a good start to our journey.’
Caspan agreed, and he shifted his back into a more comfortable position against the wall. He closed his eyes, feeling the weariness of the morning flight drain from his body.
‘So this is Caledon,’ Kilt remarked, and Caspan peeped through his left eye to see her peering through a hole in the wall.
Intrigued, he shuffled over beside her and stared through the opening. Before, his focus had been on the powerful sea and the wall itself, but now he was surprised to see how much the landscape changed north of Mance O’Shea’s Break.
Vegetation was scarce, limited to clumps of bramble and copses of hickory located in narrow ravines and dry creek beds that cut across the foothills like scars gouged out by a gigantic blade. Patches of snow, Winter’s footsteps, appeared here and there, becoming more abundant the deeper he looked into the lowlands, eventually forming swathes that blanketed entire hills. In the distance loomed the mountains of the highlands; dark grey giants cloaked in fog and cloud. There was a savage beauty to the land that Caspan found enchanting. Some time passed before he finally looked away.
Kilt withdrew her gaze long before him, and was hungrily devouring another pork pie. ‘I don’t know how anybody could live in such a harsh land,’ she muttered sourly. ‘It’s not suitable for yaks and wolves, let alone people.’
Sara raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Some people believe that Caledon is the cradle of human civilisation.’
Kilt looked at her blankly. ‘In language I can understand, please.’
‘Ruins have been discovered in Caledon that are thousands of years old. Some believe they were created by the first Men, and that we’re descended from those Stone Age tribes.’
Kilt almost choked on her food. ‘What? Are you seriously suggesting that we’re related to the savage clansmen?’
Sara shrugged. ‘Researchers at the library of Briston believe so.’
Roland grinned at Kilt from across the room and nudged Lachlan. ‘It would certainly explain a lot about her.’
Kilt glared at him. ‘Oh, be quiet, you big baby!’ She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before addressing Sara. ‘If what you’re saying is true, then this war against the clans is one mixed-up affair.’
Sara nodded. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Shanty laughed heartily and pushed himself to his feet. ‘I couldn’t care less what the researchers at Briston say. I’m not a descendant of Caledonish clansmen.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ Kilt asked.
‘My dear, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a dwarf. Many people find that fact very hard to believe, for their eyes are normally drawn to my incredibly handsome face and don’t see anything beyond that.’ He grinned and the friends laughed. ‘But, yes, I am a dwarf. And I cannot see how anybody of my height – and beauty, I should add – could possibly be the distant relative of highland clansmen, who are much taller than me and have faces so ugly that not even a cowpat could love them.’ He adjusted the folds of his cloak in a dignified manner. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to stretch my legs. I hope I don’t run into any of your relatives.’
Roland smirked at Shanty as he climbed the stairs to the battlements. ‘Oh, I like him.’
‘That’s all we need: another you,’ Kilt scowled.
The treasure hunters sat in silence for some time, sharing the contents of the sacks. It wasn’t long before Caspan’s belly was full, and he lounged back against the wall, watching Lachlan sharpen his sword on a small whetstone he carried in a leather pouch tied to his belt. The last time he had seen his friend do this was during a break in the battle at Darrowmere. Caspan’s flesh tingled at the memory, and he wondered ominously if their swords would be drawn today.
‘You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.’
Caspan was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t seen Shanty come back down and stand before him. He shuffled over, making room for the dwarf to sit down. ‘I was thinking of when Lachlan and I fought the Roon at Darrowmere.’
Caspan shrugged modestly, but his heart swelled with pride. ‘We merely did what had to be done.’
‘Spoken like a true hero.’ Shanty pointed at the hole in the wall. ‘I saw you admiring the view before.’
Caspan nodded. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I don’t think many Andalonians would share that sentiment. They like their comfort too much.’
Caspan’s look became distant. ‘I’m not sure if you know, but I was a member of the Black Hand, the thieves’ guild in Floran, before I joined the Brotherhood. I spent eight years rummaging through the city’s sewers and gutters. I barely got to see the open sky, let alone mountain ranges and snow-covered foothills.’
Shanty patted him on the arm. ‘And I’m sure you’ll get to see many more strange and wonderful lands. You’ve certainly chosen the right profession for travel. That’s one of the main reasons I joined the Brotherhood. My heart suffers from a terrible affliction that only the King’s secret order of treasure hunters could cure.’ Caspan’s eyes grew wide with alarm, but his concern was quickly assuaged by the grin that crossed the dwarf’s lips. ‘Wanderlust, it’s called.’
‘You had me worried there for a moment.’
‘And so you should be. It mightn’t mean much to you, but it’s a terrible thing to have, young Caspan. Most people are happy to plod along in life, content to lead their existence within the same city. Some people never even venture a mile from the village in which they’re born. They take comfort in what’s familiar. But to me it’s mundane. I yearn for the open road and will happily let it take me wherever it leads. Ever since I was a lad, all I’ve ever dreamed of doing is exploring the world.’ He squared his shoulders proudly. ‘I’m an outcast and a reject, a shame to people who stand taller than five feet tall, but I wouldn’t change my life for all the treasure in the world. Oh, Caspan, you wouldn’t believe the sights I’ve seen. I’ve trod the sweeping desert dunes of Salahara that stretch as far as the eye can see, and slept under night skies lit with more glistening stars than scales on a dragon’s coat. But this is my first trip into Caledon. I can’t wait to get into the mountains and –’
From across the room, Lachlan raised his hand abruptly in warning, cutting Shanty’s sentence short. The boy placed a gloved finger to his lips, then jerked his chin up towards the parapet. Ferris was crouched in a rigid stance at the top of the stairs, staring at a fixed point beyond the wall to the south and growling.
Shanty leapt to his feet and gripped his sword. ‘Arm yourselves,’ he whispered, motioning with a wave of his weapon for his Warden to come down and join them. ‘Somebody approaches.’
CHAPTER 11
THE FIGHT AT MANCE O’SHEA’S BREAK
Caspan snatched up his bow, pulled off its doe-skin cover and nocked an arrow to the bowstring. He took position beside Sara at a hole in the wall and stared to the south. The land sloped downhill for a hundred yards before reaching a thick copse of trees, through which a dirt track emerged and led up to the fort. He studied the woods intently, but couldn’t see what had alarmed Ferris. He glanced questioningly at Sara, who shrugged in return, then directed his gaze to the south again.
That’s when the riders appeared.
There were several dozen of them, on short-legged and shaggy-maned Caledonish mounts. The clansmen wore tartan kilts and their faces were smeared in blue paint, typical of highlanders. Some wore coifs and mail shirts; others vests of boiled, hardened leather, scarred by enemy blades. Bucklers were strapped to the sides of their mounts, and they were armed with either claymores – large, two-handed swords with upward-sloping crossguards – or basket-hilted broadswords. Many also had shortbows slung over their shoulders and quivers jostled by their sides.
‘A war band!’ Shanty hissed.
Sara glanced at Caspan, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought this area would be deserted.’
‘Lochinbar and Caledonia are at war,’ he returned, studying the lead rider, who had an enormous claymore strapped across his back and a mop of hair that shone like polished copper. ‘Perhaps they’re returning from the siege of Darrowmere.’
‘Or they were sent here to secure the border against incursion,’ Lachlan speculated.
‘I’d say you’re both right,’ Shanty muttered. He pulled his cowl over his head, masking his face in shadow, and peered through a hole in the wall. ‘But whatever the reason, they’re heading straight for us. And there are too many of them for us to face.’ He flexed his fingers on the leather-bound grip of his sword and chewed his bottom lip, assessing the situation. ‘With any luck, they’ll turn off the trail and head westward towards the next fort. There’s a gateway there giving access to the north.’
Anxious seconds passed as the riders progressed up the trail. Caspan feared that they were heading straight to where he and his friends hid, perhaps to rest for a few hours before carrying on with their journey north, when the copper-haired clansman steered his mount off the track and led the war band to the west.
Sara exhaled a relieved breath. ‘That was too close for …’
The words were caught in her mouth as one of the rear highlanders glanced towards the fort, drew rein and sat up straight in his stirrups. He pointed directly to where the treasure hunters were stationed and gave a cry of warning. The other warriors wheeled their mounts around and galloped back to join him.
‘They’ve spotted us!’ Lachlan gasped, stepping back and drawing his sword. ‘But how?’
Caspan spun around, searching for what had alerted the war band. His gaze rested on Bandit. The Wardens had been set up in a darkened corner of the room, but the manticore had moved into a section where shafts of sunlight shone down through the broken roof. He was snapping playfully at dust particles that drifted slowly through the silver pillars, the pommel and guard of Roland’s rapier, strapped to the manticore’s side, reflecting the light and glistening brightly.
Kilt noticed it too, and raced back to drag the Warden back into the shadows. ‘You blithering oaf! Of all the hare-brained things you could’ve done!’
‘Hey, don’t get angry at Bandit,’ Roland said, rushing to the manticore’s defence and snatching the reins from Kilt. ‘He doesn’t know any better.’
‘I’d be surprised if he knows anything! He’s just like you, always goofing around, and now he’s landed us in serious trouble.’
Roland bristled. ‘Yeah, well, what makes you so sure they spotted Bandit? It might have been your bright red face that gave us away.’
Kilt shoved him and clenched her fists. ‘I’m going to –’
Shanty turned, his eyes flashing angrily. ‘Stop bickering! That’s the last thing we need right now.’ He quickly collected the provisions bags and tossed them to Roland and Kilt. ‘Make yourselves useful and tie those to the Wardens. I need to work out how we’re going to get out of here, and I can hardly do that with you two carrying on.’ He looked at Caspan and Sara, who hadn’t moved from the wall. ‘What are the highlanders doing?’
‘They’ve amassed about eighty yards from the barracks,’ Caspan reported. ‘Some have dismounted and readied their bows. A large group of riders has formed up behind that copper-haired warrior, who looks like he’s organising a small band to scout ahead.’
Shanty nodded grimly and surveyed the room. ‘It’s no good mounting up here. Their archers will pick us off the instant we fly out of the fort,’ he muttered. His gaze rested on the stairs. ‘We need to get up to the battlements. We’ll be exposed on the stairs, so we’ll have to move quickly. Once we reach the wall, we should be safe from the archers as long as we keep low. We can drop a rope over the other side and climb down. Then we’ll mount up and fly out of here.’ He raised a finger in warning. ‘But don’t even think about taking to the sky until we’re several h
undred yards away from the Break. Keep low to the ground and only pull up when I give the command. If we rise too early, we’ll be easy targets for their archers. Now, is everybody clear about that?’
The friends nodded, and Shanty pointed at Lachlan and Roland, directing them to lead the Wardens over to the base of the stairs. The others joined them and exchanged nervous glances. Sara in particular didn’t seem to be coping well, fidgeting anxiously and muttering to herself.
Roland winked at her. ‘Hey, we’ll be fine.’
‘I don’t know, Roland. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,’ she said.
Shanty raised his soul key to his lips and dismissed his faun. He smiled reassuringly at the treasure hunters. ‘I’ve been in far worse situations than this. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here. Just remember, keep low and move fast. Now, on my command, make for the top of the wall.’
His heart pounding, Caspan spared a final glance back at the highlanders and saw that the scouts had started moving forward. There were six of them, crouched low, spread out across the field, all heading towards the main entrance to the fort, twenty yards to the left. He turned to Shanty and was just about to warn him, when the dwarf lowered his hand swiftly and ordered, ‘Now!’
The companions raced up the stairs. Cries of alarm rose from behind, followed by the ominous twang of bowstrings. The wind was so strong that it caused many of the arrows to go wide off their mark, but some of the highlanders compensated for the gale, angling their bows into the breeze before they loosed off. Their shafts cracked into the stone steps around the companions and thudded into the roof rafters just off to their right.
Holding the Wardens by the reins, Roland and Lachlan led the group’s desperate flight. They were followed closely by Shanty, Sara and Kilt. Caspan, an arrow still fitted to his bow, brought up the rear. He bounded up the stairs, head lowered against the feathered storm.
